


Hecate

by Arlewena



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Etro interferes with the Astrals' plans, F/M, Female Noctis Lucis Caelum, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-14 23:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15399723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlewena/pseuds/Arlewena
Summary: Etro gives her blessing to those who cross paths with death during their childhood. Through these chosen she is able to influence events in the realm of the living, though she rarely exercises this power. However when she finds herself disagreeing with the fate the Astrals have bestowed upon some of her chosen she chooses to interfere in a spectacular fashion-- She creates a time-loop, giving her chosen the chance to figure out a means of escaping their fate. However, as with everything there are consequences; and not all of those with her blessings are on the same side.





	Hecate

**Author's Note:**

> So this is something that I've been stewing on ever since that last scene in the game, where they repeat the beginning. So have a time-loop! Plus I love the idea of exploring more of the background of Eos and the kingdom of Lucis. Especially after reading some of the other stories here that do just that. I hope that you all enjoy my take on this. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy XV, I don't even have my own copy of the game- yet.

_**“Gather strength, O Chosen. The fate of this world falls to the King of Kings. Her Providence consecrated in the divine Light of the Crystal. So it is ordained-- the revelation of Bahamut.** _

 

_**Now enter into reflection, that the Light of Providence shine within.”** _

* * *

**First Reflection: X**

**Chapter 1: Aulea**

**May 22, 739 ME**

Noctis’ earliest memory was also the only one she had of her mother. Most of what she knew of the woman who birthed her was gathered through observing the few portraits made of her or from rare conversations with her father who preferred not to speak of his late wife. On the anniversary of Queen Aulea’s death however, the King would take Noctis to visit her mother’s tomb and during that time could often be persuaded to speak of her.

She was beautiful he would tell Noctis, and kind. _“Most of all Noctis, she loved. She loved so fiercely and strongly that everyone around her couldn’t help but be drawn to her light. She made everyone’s day better with nothing more than a smile. And of course she loved you most of all. She wanted you to be happy, so much. I wish she could be here to see you grow up.”_ He would tell Noctis how they had been friends since childhood, and that he knew from a young age that one day he would ask her to marry him. _“The first time she took me to task for pulling a stupid, reckless stunt because I thought it would be cool, I knew. I knew that one day I would ask that girl to be my Queen.”_

From the portraits she sometimes spent hours in front of, after she managed to slip her watchers yet again, she knew what her mother looked like. She had been beautiful. She shared Noctis’ blue eyes, and often wore her long and dark-purple hair in an elaborate braid. Noctis however, secretly favored the picture hidden in the glove box of the Regalia, the one of her mother-- hair falling loose of its braids as she laughed, a massive battleaxe being held casually by her side. She liked the idea of her mother as a warrior, a fighter, a protector.

When she was at her loneliest, during the long nights spent alone in her dark room-- father too busy to tuck her in and scare the monsters away-- she would imagine her mother’s spirit there to defend her from the shadows lurking in her room. A bright light to chase away the dark loneliness that ate away at her.

Sometimes, when he was in a nostalgic mood, her father would tell her how much she looked like her mother and smile. Noctis liked it when her dad smiled. She made it her mission to look as much like the pictures and portraits of her mother as possible so her dad would smile whenever he saw. She let her hair grow, and didn’t complain when the ladies who helped her dress took hours to style it- not even when they would pull and pull so much her head hurt for hours later. She tried to act grown up, tried not to cry or throw tantrums when things didn’t go her way. Tried to be nice and say please and thank-you to all the people who worked at the citadel. Her mother was kind, so she would be too. She tried to be happy as well. Her mother wanted it her dad had said, and so Noctis would try. She became known as a lively child, always smiling and laughing, and if she occasionally gave in and cried when it became too much: when she was left alone once more when her father couldn’t make dinner or urgent business kept him from joining her on their planned outing; it would go unremarked.

She was not quite four in the memory, which was a hazy thing, blurry and incomplete. Yet she would go over what she did remember almost manically, desperate to not lose that one connection to her mother, however hard the remembrance was. She remembered being held close to her mother, sobbing into her chest as the comforting scent of rose and pine surrounded her.  She didn’t understand what exactly was going on, but she knew her mother was saying goodbye. She didn’t know where she was going or why, but she knew she didn’t want her to leave. She remembers soft humming and a hand combing through her hair until she fell asleep, still enveloped in the scent of rose and pine.

When she woke up her mother was gone. She doesn’t remember much of the following days, just the tears in her father’s eyes-- one of the only times she ever remembers seeing such a thing. She remembers the itchy, scratchy feel of the dress she was forced into for the funeral, remembers how it hadn’t smelled right to her. Remembers the idea that she cried herself to sleep for a long while after that, waiting and waiting for her mother to tell her goodnight. She thinks this went on until her father started tucking her in personally every night he could. He didn’t like seeing her cry, she remembers, and so she tried not to when he could see.

Eventually things had gone on, her memories of her mother growing dimmer by the day, until all she was left with was the fractured recollection of her death, the sense-memory of her scent, a memory of her voice that she had no way of knowing if was accurate or just something she had created in her own mind, and the images preserved in the few portraits and even rarer photographs. She only really knew her mother through her father’s memories. But it was enough. It had to be. It was all she had.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank-you for reading! I would enjoy hearing what you think of the story.


End file.
